


Past - Present - Perfect

by Copgirl1964



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Greg Lestrade is a professor, Halloween, Happy Ending, M/M, Mycroft Holmes is his student, Undead, Vampire - like creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: This is a university AU where Greg is teaching history and Mycroft, one of his students, fell in love with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antheas_Blackberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/gifts).

> Written for A Halloween13 Calender on Twitter. Thank you @Lavender_and_Vanilla for having once again the patience to beta my work and @Vulpesmellifera for organising this special Halloween storytime.

Seventeen year old Mycroft Holmes couldn‘t be more embarrassed if he tried, while he followed his favourite professor Greg Lestrade to his office.

“Have a seat, Holmes.” The professor offered his student a chair. “Would you like some tea?”

Mycroft shook his head bashfully.

“Alright.” Greg poured himself a cup from a thermos before he sat at his desk. “I could ask you what the ruckus in class was about but I saw what Adler wrote in lipstick on the mirror in the student’s toilet.”

How Mycroft, who was already red-faced, managed to turn an even darker shade of scarlet was beyond Greg. Probably came with the fact that the lad was ginger and usually rather pale, he mused.

“You know it was her, not me?” Mycroft asked with audible relief, although he kept looking at his knees instead of the man opposite.

Every single student and probably professor had already seen or knew that someone had written Mycroft & Greg inside a heart on the mirror, when Mycroft learned about it. Before he could flee from the lecture hall that seemed to shake from the derisive laughter of his fellow students, Professor Lestrade entered.

He’d waited patiently until the laughter had died and the room was completely quiet, before he distributed assignments that caused a chorus of groans and would keep most students busy for the rest of the day.

“Holmes, come with me,” he finally said. A few students snickered but one glance from the professor’s dark eyes shushed everyone successfully. Greg left the room with Mycroft in tow; Mycroft, who was currently wringing his hands, wishing he were anywhere but in Greg Lestrade’s office.

“I might not have Holmesian observation skills,” Greg told him with a wink, “but I do grate all of the students’ exams in my history classes, so I recognised her hand-writing. On top of that, Miss Adler’s lipstick isn’t exactly inconspicuous.” Greg chuckled which earned him a shy smile from his student.

Greg drank a bit of his tea. “I recognise also,” he continued, “that while Miss Adler’s drawing was both childish and nasty it’s not exactly false, is it?”

Mycroft shrank back into himself but gave a small shake of his head before he continued staring at  
his knees.

Since the day he’d sat through the first lecture of his history professor, Mycroft loved him with all of his young heart. He loved his voice, the kind brown eyes and the manner how he treated all of his students. Observing the handsome man, Mycroft quickly perceived that Greg Lestrade was hard-working but he also enjoyed playing football, a pint or two at the local pub and he had the most joyful laugh Mycroft had ever heard. To Mycroft’s surprise the professor rejoiced in his student’s fierce intelligence. Unlike other professors, who appeared to feel intimidated by his brilliance, Greg gave Mycroft demanding assignments without overexerting him and did his best to integrate him in the body of students, all about three or four years older than Mycroft.

“You aren’t the first nor will you be the last to have a bit of a crush on a teacher or a professor,  
Mycroft,” Greg said gently. “But I’m old enough to be your father. Someone closer to your age will certainly walk into your life and sweep your heart away.”

Mycroft bit his lip. He refrained from saying that his heart had been swept away already, thank you very much, and that he knew that Greg Lestrade was the love of his life. There would never be anybody else. Involuntarily he shook his head.

“Oh, Mycroft. Compared to you I’m practically ancient. You are a wonderful young man, brilliant and handsome but unfo… But you are my student,” Greg finished the sentence quickly but that blasted, highly observant youth in front of him had heard the slip of his tongue. With blue-grey eyes impossibly wide, he stared at the man who was twenty-two years his senior.  
“You… you almost said unfortunately.”

Greg closed his eyes in dismay and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I won’t insult you by lying to you, Mycroft,” he said after a moment. “Yes, I really like you but there are a million reasons why nothing can happen between us. The fact that it’d be highly inappropriate because you haven’t even reached the age of consent is just one.”

Looking up, Greg still recognised the sparkle in Mycroft’s eyes. Knowing how the teenager ticked, he played the only card that he knew would make his student back off.

“I very much enjoy working here, Mycroft. Teaching history is everything I ever wanted. If we were to engage in a relationship, I would be discharged and I can’t imagine that’s what you want.”

Mycroft shook his head sadly.

Seeing unshed tears in those grey eyes hurt but Greg knew that they had no future together. This bright young man deserved better. Much, much better.

“The other students...” Mycroft said eventually.

“Will have something more interesting to talk about soon enough,” the professor finished the sentence for him. “The Halloween ball is coming up in a couple of days. That should prove to be enough of a distraction and will give everybody plenty to talk about.”

Greg stood up and walked to the door. “You are dismissed for today but I’ll see you in class next week,” he said.

“Next week?”

“Professor Donovan will take over tomorrow. I have a few days off.” Greg didn’t elaborate and Mycroft didn’t ask.

Before the youth left the office though, he looked at his professor. “I apologize,” he said.

Greg frowned. “What for?” he asked.

Quickly Mycroft stepped close, gently but desperately grabbed Greg’s face with both hands and kissed him softly on the mouth. “For stealing a kiss,” he said before he rushed out of the office.

Greg kept staring at the door for the better part of a minute, utterly stunned by the kiss. It had been slightly wet and clumsy but right now he wished he wasn’t Mycroft’s teacher, so he could chase after him and return the kiss properly.

Mycroft was lying awake that night, staring at the ceiling. He recalled what the kiss had felt like. The slight scratch of Professor Lestrade’s beard against his skin, the softness of the man’s lips and he’d smelled his aftershave. Perhaps he would get himself a small bottle of the same brand. Not to wear it but to put a drop or two on his pillow, so he could fall asleep with the man’s scent, pretending he was with him.

Sally Donovan took over the next lesson, and every lesson that followed. For reasons unknown Professor Greg Lestrade never returned from his short holiday on Halloween. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 years later

“You really want to do it then,” Sherlock Holmes said. He’d put his phone on speaker and was watching a chemical compound dissolve a piece of meat in a petri dish.

“If there’s even the slightest chance to find him, I just have to,” Mycroft told his brother.

“Very well, I’ll meet you in front of the Godiva shop at St. Pancras at seven. I’m sure you’ll find that particular location.”

Before Mycroft could reply, Sherlock had terminated the connection.

Mycroft stared at the phone before he sighed and put it down. In spite of the remark he was grateful that Sherlock agreed to help him. Who else could he ask?  
Both Holmes brothers worked in research these days; Sherlock in the Chemistry department of the University College London, Mycroft had a professorship in History at the University of Cambridge. He’d followed in the footsteps of Greg Lestrade, even managed to secure the man’s former office, although Mycroft had no interest in teaching. Fortunately his work in research was valuable enough for the university to indulge him.

Mycroft never forgot his beloved professor, whose sudden disappearance had never been sufficiently explained. With the help of his younger brother, who wasn’t only interested in chemistry but also criminology and forensic science, Mycroft eventually learned that Greg Lestrade’s secret hobby had been parapsychology. More digging had unearthed an eccentric individual by the name of Philipp Anderson. Nobody really knew what Anderson did at the university but from what Mycroft had learned, he and Greg went to school together and shared their passion for ghost-hunting.

Initially Mycroft dismissed their hobby as balderdash but eventually he found evidence here and there that the whole topic perhaps deserved further consideration. Anderson had been unwilling to talk to Mycroft but the latter learned that each year on Halloween, the very day Greg Lestrade had gone missing, Anderson went to some dingy pub and got spectacularly drunk.

The evening at The Beekeeper & Necromancer one year ago cost Mycroft fifty quid for cheap alcohol and a couple of pounds for painkillers which he needed the following day. But he got his story and one he planned to investigate.

In the late 90s a new pier was built at Gatwick Airport but workers kept reporting strange incidents; sightings of a pale man with green eyes. One young worker even disappeared but because he’d roots in Italy and recently impregnated his girl-friend, the police was convinced he’d left England and went into hiding. Still, several men quit their job and others refused to work in specific areas, which caused enough delays that the completion deadline was moved back several months.

Greg Lestrade was convinced that there was more to it, and on Halloween in 1999, he and Philipp went to visit the site. Bill Wiggins, the only worker who was willing to enter the area workers claimed was haunted, showed them a door. Usually the door led to a set of rooms occupied by cleaning personal but on Halloween it lead some place else.

Anderson had been instructed to hold onto the end of a wire, that was wound onto a bobbin attached to Greg’s belt. The professor had entered the realm. Minutes passed without incident but then Anderson was startled by a strange sound. He’d dropped his end of the wire and before he could pick it up, it was pulled away. Without physical attachment to the real world, Greg couldn’t escape the realm and on the morning of All Saint’s Day the door had closed for good.  
Laden with guilt Anderson tried everything in his limited power to free his friend. He didn’t dare to tell the police officers who made inquiries after the professor’s disappearance for he feared they would commit him into a medical facility. It had been difficult enough to avoid being accused of murdering Greg. Only a lack of motive had prevented him from spending the following years in governmental custody.

The following years Anderson had done extensive research. He developed a theory that if there was a strong emotional connection between two people it too could function as a link between the realm and the real world. He doubted friendship was enough. Love was a requirement. Unfortunately, with Greg having no family or spouse he knew of, he deemed the task impossible.  
It was this morsel of information that made Mycroft decide there was a chance for unknown by all but perhaps his brother, a small but steady flame of love still burned in his chest for Greg Lestrade.

* * *

Godiva was a good place to meet because Mycroft was nervous and nervousness meant that he was in dire need of a bit of chocolate. Okay, lots of chocolate but the delicious Belgian morsels were expensive and he didn’t want to upset his stomach. Still, the little package of truffles he bought, were gone by the time Sherlock appeared.

Sherlock smirked when he smelled the chocolate on his older sibling’s breath but he refrained from commenting. So they walked to King’s Cross station and took the train to Gatwick.

The airport was quiet when they took the elevators from the train station to the terminal. Only security as well as cleaning personal, repair crews and people from a whole variety of delivery services who were stocking the shelves of the shops, shared the space at this hour.  
A security guard waved them through when they proffered papers that identified them as employees of an IT service with orders to work on a computer at a British Airways counter. How Sherlock had managed to get hold of those papers Mycroft didn’t want to know but he was very grateful for his brother’s resourcefulness.  
The atmosphere was eerie and Mycroft shivered as they walked the empty corridors, the only sound that accompanied them were their soft footsteps on the industrial flooring. When they finally reached the grey inconspicuous door it was almost midnight.

“This is it,” Sherlock said. Although he’d whispered his voice was too loud and Mycroft started at the sound of it.

He’d brought a roll of thin but sturdy wire that would keep him connected to his brother. In theory the bond he and his brother shared should be enough to enable him to leave the realm, but that had yet to be proven.

Opening the door, Mycroft switched on his torch but the darkness was so complete, the strong beam barely reached further than a couple of meters.

“Very well,” Mycroft said. His eyes found his sibling’s and he produced a forced smile. “I hope to see you again soon, Sherlock.”

Sherlock just nodded but he touched the wire where it was attached to his own belt in an assuring gesture. Without another word Mycroft disappeared into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two chapters following this one, bringing the story to two different conclusions. Chapter 3 will be the Halloween ending, chapter 4 a different one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is searching the realm, looking for Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the Halloween chapter I promised you.   
I love the boys dearly but this is for Halloween so the chapter might not have the ending you're hoping for. Read the tags Iaadde if you need the warning!   
There will be a chapter want a differnt ending.

The first thing Mycroft noticed was the change of the ground he walked on. Instead of the industrial flooring the ground felt rough under the soles of his shoes. In the beam of the torch he discovered that the floor was no longer artificial but damp, black rock. He kept walking not too fast but steadily forward, feeling the wire that connected him to the outside world every so often.

Looking back over his shoulder he could see absolutely nothing. No speck of light was visible from where the entrance to the realm should be located, although he was certain that he’d walked straight forward. The air got steadily cooler and he was grateful that he wore a jumper under his jacket. Every so often a light breeze ruffled his hair, although he couldn’t detect a source for the draft.

The walls had the same design than those outside the realm but they seem to be a hundred years old, blistered with damp and a poster inside a display case, advertising some gold credit card, looked mouldy. Twice he thought he saw the outline of a door but when he looked closer he found none.

The silence of the corridor was absolute, even the sound of his own footsteps were swallowed.

Then the corridor widened and he found himself looking at the usual arrangements found at an airport’s gate. Seats for the passengers, a desk for the staff and bins for the rubbish. An old fashioned briefcase lay discarded on one seat, on another a couple of paper napkins and a headless plush toy. Another seat had a stain that looked suspiciously like dried blood.  
Mycroft stared at the display until a fat fly landed on the toy and began palpating the fabric with its labellum. He shuddered and quickly continued on his way.

He kept on walking and was wondering whether the wire would run out before he found his professor, when the beam of the torch illuminated a pair of legs that belonged to a figure sitting in a niche, asleep against the wall.

“Oh my lord,” Mycroft whispered and his hands began to shake. He could hardly believe his eyes. Not only was the man his former professor, his face looked almost exactly as Mycroft remembered him. The only significant difference Mycroft could see was that his hair and beard had turned completely grey, and his skin was as pale as an albino’s.

Now that he stood in front of the man he acknowledged that he’d been almost certain he’d find a skeleton dressed in Greg Lestrade’s clothes, perhaps right behind the door through which he’d entered the realm. No more reading of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, Mycroft decided, feeling a shiver running down his back.

Suppressing a sob, Mycroft called out in a voice hoarse with emotion. “Professor Lestrade.”

In an instant the man was up and on his feet, shading his eyes with a hand against the brightness against the light from the torch. For a split-second Mycroft thought those eyes had looked yellow instead of brown but he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. Quickly he directed the beam of his torch to the ground.

“Who’s there?” The man had his back pressed to the wall and was squinting against the light, although it barely reached his face.

“I’m Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft said. Closing his eyes, he shone the light at his face for a moment.

“Mycroft? What happened to you? You aged! I mean, you look like you’re all grown up.” Greg stretched out a hand and touched Mycroft’s face. His fingers looked thinner than Mycroft remembered then and they felt incredibly cold. Mycroft flinched at the touch.

“Sorry,” Greg apologized, withdrawing his hand. “It’s not exactly warm in here.”

“It is I who is sorry, professor,” Mycroft replied. “I wish I’d come to look for you sooner.”

“Sooner?” Greg asked.

“It seems to me as if the time within this realm passes at a different speed than… ah... outside.” Mycroft waved vaguely in the direction of the way he’d come from. “How long do you think you’ve been in here?” As soon as he’s asked the question he wondered whether he shouldn’t have waited until they were safely back outside.

“Almost three weeks. My watch shows the date as well as the time.”

“Three weeks?” Mycroft asked, utterly surprised.

“Yeah. When the connection with Philipp was terminated I kept walking around for several hours, looking for another exit, until the battery of my torch died. I brought a spare one but decided that I wanted to safe it in case I was trapped here longer. Seems I was correct.”

“Outside years passed,” Mycroft said, not knowing how to break the news any gentler. The professor stared at him.

“I’d say that can’t be true but I do recognize you, Mycroft, although you look as if you’re about my age now.”

Mycroft nodded. “I’m thirty-seven,” he confessed.

“I’ll be damned! That… that means... twenty years have passed instead of twenty days!” Greg exclaimed.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, unable to come up with a more clever, more comforting comment.

The professor seemed to be at a loss for words but after a minute or so he shook his head.

“Not that I’m complaining but I am a little confused how you think you will be able to lead me back outside. As far as I know there has to be a direct physical connection with the outer world and that was cut off the day I came with Philipp. Once people wander in here without it, there’s no possibility for them to escape.”

Mycroft thought again that the professor’s eyes had flashed yellow. Instead of commenting on his observation we said, “I spoke to Mr. Anderson and he has a theory that a strong… ah... emotional connection could work as well.”

It took the professor a moment to understand what Mycroft meant. “Don’t tell me that you kept that crush you had for me alive all these years.”

Mycroft was glad for the darkness because he felt his face growing hot. “What I felt… what I still feel, well, I wouldn’t call it a crush, professor.”

“Oh.” Reaching out and squeezing Mycroft’s arm, Greg cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, we should leave before something happens and you get trapped in here too.”

Without another word they set out towards the door. Aside from their footfall the only sound they heard came from the thin metallic rope as it reeled back into it’s casing. While they were walking Mycroft wondered how the professor had survived. Perhaps he’d brought a bit of food and water probably could be found somewhere. Maybe a bathroom, although Mycroft shuddered at the thought of consuming anything inside this realm.

Now that he was no longer searching and therefore walking faster, he was almost surprised how quickly he could see the threshold and Sherlock waiting beyond. He wanted to turn and say something to the professor but the man took hold of Mycroft’s shoulder and ushered him on. The grip was harder than it was necessary and even hurt a little but Mycroft guessed that he was simply desperate to leave.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you,” Greg mumbled, loosening his grip when he felt Mycroft flinch.

“It’s alright,” he replied and offered his hand. Cold hard fingers curled around his own and Mycroft’s urge to leave this place became almost overwhelming. Who knew what the realm did to someone who stayed too long.

Just before they stepped over the threshold Sherlock caught sight of them in the dark and his eyes went wide. His look of expectation turned into horror. Sherlock’s mouth opened but Mycroft could only hear him once he stepped over the threshold. By then it was too late though.

Whirling round, alerted by his brother’s scream and a snarl coming from behind him, he found himself face to face with a creature that now barely resembled Greg Lestrade. The eyes were no longer the colour of chocolate but a vivid yellow, with irises like a snake, and his fingernails had turned into claws that were about three inches long.

Frozen, incapable of preventing what he feared was coming, Sherlock stared with utter horror at the terrifying creature that took hold of his brother with merciless strength. Mycroft, his eyes as big as saucers, managed one last “Greg no,” before a pair of razor-sharp fangs sank into his neck and the creature began to drink greedily.

Mycroft’s blood revived Greg and as the man who used to be his student slumped against his chest, he fed him his own blood, transforming him.

Sherlock fled in terror, tears streaming down his face. He ran from the creature they had freed from the realm it had been trapped in. And he ran from what used to be his beloved brother, whose now undead body was bound for eternity to an equally undead Greg Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know you hate me right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second version of Mycroft entering the realm to search for Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a different ending, as promised, than the 3rd chapter.

The first thing Mycroft noticed was the change of the ground he walked on. Instead of the industrial flooring the ground felt rough under the soles of his shoes. In the beam of the torch he discovered that the floor no longer looked artificial but like damp black rock. He kept walking not too fast but steadily forward, feeling the wire every so often. Looking back over his shoulder he could see absolutely nothing. No speck of light was visible from where the door out of the realm should be located, although he was certain that he’d walked straight forward. The air got steadily cooler and he was grateful that he wore a jumper under his jacket.

He kept walking, wondering whether the wire would run out before he found his professor. The beam of the torch was directed at the ground and all of a sudden it illuminated a pair of legs that belonged to a figure sitting on the ground, asleep against against the wall.

“Oh my lord,” Mycroft whispered and his hands began to shake for he could hardly believe his eyes. Not only was the man his former professor, his face looked exactly as Mycroft remembered him. As far as Mycroft could see, he hadn’t aged a day.

“Professor Lestrade,” Mycroft called out in a voice hoarse with emotion.

The man produced a soft grunt before he slowly opened his eyes, shading them with a hand against the brightness. Mycroft quickly directed the beam to the ground.

“Finally, Philipp,” Greg said. “What on earth took you so long?” He struggled to get to his feet, Mycroft taking him by the elbow to help.

“I presume you mean Philipp Anderson,” Mycroft said. “I’m not him.”

“Not…?” Greg frowned, still squinting against the light, although it barely reached his face. “Who are you then.”

“I’m Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft said. Closing his eyes, he shone the light at his face for a moment.

“Mycroft? What happened to you? You aged! I mean, you look like you’re all grown up.” Greg stretched out a hand and touched Mycroft’s face. His fingers were quite cold and Mycroft flinched slightly.

“Sorry,” Greg apologized, withdrawing his hand. “It’s not exactly warm in here.” He began rubbing his hands together to warm them. 

“It is I who is sorry, professor,” Mycroft replied. “It seems to me as if the time within this realm passes at a different speed than… ah... outside.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the way he’d come from. “How long do you think you’ve been in here?” As soon as he’s asked the question he wondered whether he shouldn’t have waited until they were safely back outside.

“About a day?” Greg shrugged. I didn’t bring a watch.

“A day?” Mycroft asked, utterly surprised.

“Yeah. When the connection with Philipp was terminated I kept walking around for several hours, looking for another exit, until the battery of my torch died. I brought a spare one but decided that I wanted to save it in case I was trapped here longer. So I sat down, ate one of the apples I brought and then I must have fallen asleep.”

“Outside years passed,” Mycroft said, not knowing how to break the news any gentler. The professor stared at him.

“I’d say that can’t be true but I do recognize you, Mycroft, although you look as if you’re about my age now.”

Mycroft nodded. “I’m thirty-seven,” he confessed.

“I’ll be damned! That… that means... twenty years have passed?” Greg exclaimed.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, unable to come up with a more clever, more comforting comment.

The professor seemed to be at a loss for words but after a minute or so he shook his head. “Not that I’m complaining but I am a little confused how you were able to find me in here. As far as I know there has to be a physical connection with the outer world and that was cut off the day I came with Philipp.”

“I spoke to Mr. Anderson and he has a theory that a strong… ah... emotional connection could work as well.”

It took the professor a moment to understand what Mycroft meant. “Don’t tell me that you kept that crush you had for me alive all those years.”

Mycroft was glad about the darkness because he felt his face growing hot. “What I felt… what I still feel, well, I wouldn’t call it a crush, professor.”

“Oh.” Greg was quiet for a moment, trying to digest what he’d learned. Eventually he spoke. “I guess not. My feelings for you were… are stronger than simple fondness too.”

He reached out and gently squeezed Mycroft’s arm. The men smiled at each other before Greg cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, we should leave before something happens and you get trapped in here too.”

“Yes, professor.”

“Uh, and perhaps it’s time that you call me Greg.”

“Yes, uhm, Greg.” Mycroft’s voice revealed that he was smiling broadly.

Together they set out towards the door.

* * *

Sherlock was standing at the door, holding the wire that connected him to his brother loosely between his fingers. He listened carefully but now sound escaped from the impenetrable darkness Mycroft had disappeared in. It was as if an invisible barrier prevented any sound from escaping. Or entering, Sherlock thought. The same went for light. He’d tried shining the light of his torch into the corridor but the beam was swallowed within a foot into the corridor.

“Creepy,” Sherlock decided and looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed but they felt longer.

Being bored easily, Sherlock thought about the experiments he’d conducted earlier that day and those that would follow tomorrow but kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. At one point he felt as if someone was pushing against the door he was leaning against, as if trying to close it but he couldn’t rule out that he’d imagined it. Still, he kept his hands close to his belt where the wire was attached. One couldn’t be too careful.

Less than half an hour later he suddenly heard voices from inside the realm and almost immediately afterwards he could see the light approaching the threshold. When his brother, followed closely by a man he recognised from a photo Mycroft had once shown him, arrived at the threshold, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief

“You found him,” Sherlock stated, looking curiously at the man who stood in the darkness behind his brother.

Mycroft was smiling happily and about to step over the threshold when Greg stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

“I wonder what’s going to happen when I leave this realm. I mean, twenty years passed over there,” he waved in the general direction where Sherlock was standing, “while in here it’s been less than a day.” Greg’s voice was shaky and Mycroft grabbed his hand and squeezed in gently.

Considered for a moment, what Greg had said, Mycroft nodded eventually. “You said you ate one of your apples. That implies that you have at least one more. Give it to me, please. I’ll give it to Sherlock and if nothing happens to the apple, you should be quite safe.”

Fishing out the fruit, Greg handed it to Mycroft who then reached out of the realm and handed it to his brother. The three men stared at the apple as a minute ticked by and then another. Nothing happened. Sherlock dug out a pocket knife and cut the apple in two, looking closely at the core before he sniffed it and took a small bite.

“It looks and tastes like a fine fresh apple to me,” he said, facing his brother and Greg. 

“Well then,” Mycroft said, his face aglow with happiness. He took Greg Lestrade’s hand and together they stepped out of the realm.

“Welcome back, professor,” Sherlock said, curiously studying the man who meant so much to his older sibling.

He looked like the person on the photo Sherlock had once seen but he was pale as if he was in shock. From what Sherlock had just heard such a reaction was understandable because it sounded as if the professor missed the past twenty years. At least the different passage of time meant he was still alive, Sherlock thought.

The younger Holmes brought up their rear as they walked towards the exit of the airport, watching Greg Lestrade who clutched Mycroft’s hand almost desperately. At one point Mycroft wrapped his arm around the professor’s shoulders, his extra inch of height making the gesture look as protective as it was meant. 

Sherlock noticed something else as they walked towards the exit; Greg Lestrade’s hair began to change colour. It began gradually but by time they left the terminal, his hair had turned completely to a becoming silvery grey. Sherlock saw the look of surprise on Mycroft’s face when he caught sight of the grey strands but surprise was all he could find in his expression. Well, not quite. There was also infinite love. Love that was reflected on Greg Lestrade’s face when he returned Mycroft's gaze.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be two versions of the second chapter - one for Halloween (it's the reason why this story received an M-rating - believe me, the boys were not pleased what's in store for them), the other will be published the week after.


End file.
